


The Other Black Cousin

by temptresslove



Series: Power Couple [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega Verse, Politician Tom Riddle, Pureblood Heir Harry Potter, Sexual attraction at first sight, Smart Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17393681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temptresslove/pseuds/temptresslove
Summary: “Viktor has never been so taken with an omega before,” Tom says. “Ah,” he says smoothly. “But who wouldn’t be?” He looks at Harry and smirks. “You are, after all, themost beautifulomega.”Harry laughs, eyes shining mischievously. “My poor omega heart cannot take it if you keep calling me that.”





	The Other Black Cousin

Draco Black-Malfoy felt the same way as he always did when he saw Harry Black-Potter—affection and fondness that is usually reserved for a brother, a certain anticipation at finally being with his beloved cousin again, and something else, underlying that feeling, something he does not want to admit, even now as his chest beats with both excitement and anxiety.

Here Harry comes, with all the grace of an omega, unfolding himself from the carriage and holding a silk glove-covered hand out for the footman… a deep red hat on his head, decorated with intricate details, French in style, and a playful smile at his lips as he sees Draco. His neck is extended, his cheekbones sharp, as most purebloods' usually are. The rest of his body follows, covered in a flurry of red silk and ruffles, a style that has not even reached England yet.

Draco suddenly wishes he wore fancier robes.

“Cousin!” Harry calls excitedly, green eyes like a cat. “My _favorite_ cousin, how have you been?” He asks in a deep sultry voice.

Draco smiles, torn between being relieved that his cousin is back safely, and thinking it’s not so bad when he’s in France. “I’ve been good,” Harry looks at him through his dark lashes, thick and long. “You look beautiful as ever, cousin.”

Harry laughed in a way that told Draco Harry knew this very much. “Oh, you lie,” he said, eyes rolling and a fond yet playful smile at his lips. Then he looks at Draco slowly from head to toe and smiles. “ _You_ are the most beautiful thing in Britain, my love.”

He was. Draco was the most beautiful omega in Britain. He has been told by his parents, by his peers, by the alphas who courted him, and by debutante magazines and newspapers that adored him.

And still, Draco thought he was nothing next to Harry.

Harry, who was not exactly beautiful, no, not like Draco who had platinum blonde hair and large blue eyes. Harry, who by all means looked… average, except for his green doe eyes that were perfectly framed by his dark black hair and thick lashes. Where Draco was tall, Harry was short, and where Draco was pale, Harry was tan.

But it was different when the praise comes from Harry’s lips. Something warm spreads through Draco’s chest, Harry’s casual approval of him making smile.

“My _sweet_ cousin,” Harry stares at him now with softness. “ _My milk and honey cousin_ ,” he says in almost an awed whisper. “A true English rose.”

“You have become _French_ , cousin,” Draco teases lightly.

There was a definite polishing to Harry compared to when Draco last saw him, three years ago the summer before their seventh year. He was full of teenage mischief then—still adjusting to presenting as an omega. He would never insult Harry by calling him awkward in any way, because he is a Black, and Blacks were never not graceful.

But now he has entirely come to his being. 

The rich silk robes he wore, the slow sensuous walk—it fitted him perfectly, the mannerisms that were very Parisian as he moved with an unbelievable casual elegance. And the flirtatious glint his eyes that never seemed to leave.

“Nonsense,” Harry waves dismissively. “I am an English at heart.” Harry takes Draco’s arm in an obvious familiarity, and they walk together, servants scrambling to unload Harry’s many luggages.

“How many bags did you bring?” Draco asked, only realizing that there were three extra carriages just for Harry’s things.

“About sixty-seven, cousin,” he says as if it perfectly normal.

“And you did not think to shrink them?” Draco asked. “The servants are having a rather hard time.”

Harry laughed again, low and feminine. “And risk ruining all my clothes?” Harry scoffed in a rather dignified and still elegant manner. “Do you know how expensive it is to have robes custom-made in France?” Harry asked as if Draco was daft. “And the _shoes_ …”

Draco nodded, letting Harry lead them into the manor, even though it was Draco’s home. But Harry always felt at home here. He felt at home anywhere, knowing the blatant favoritism all the Blacks bore for him. Even his father, Draco thought, looked at his cousin proudly, as if he was his own son.

Harry has always been favored by the Black family. He was the favorite. It didn’t help that his parents, James Potter and Lily Black, died in an accident when he was young, which only made the adults coddle him more. 

Lucius and Narcissa had even skipped Draco’s graduation after-banquet to catch up with Harry’s own graduation in Beauxbatons. Unlike Draco, Harry graduated at the top of his class and only had Aunt Bella to stand as guardian.

Draco remembered how Narcissa looked at him then. 

_Oh but your_ poor _cousin, with only Aunt Bella in attendance, we must be there for him, Draco, you understand don’t you? We love you…_ and they apparated away, just like that.

“So,” Harry begins with a playful glint in his eyes. “Any particular alpha suitors I need to know about?”

Draco blushes. Harry has always been so blunt, outspoken for a pureblood omega.

“No… not really,” he lies. Harry does not need to know yet. He will tell him when it is set in stone and Harry can’t do anything about it. Instantly, he feels guilty with this thought and turns the subject around, knowing Harry liked to talk about himself.

“What about you, dear cousin?” Draco asks softly. “French newspapers rarely make their way here.”

With this, Harry grins at him like a Cheshire cat. “I suppose you have heard of Viktor Krum?”

Draco gasps. Viktor Krum was a famous Quidditch player, who was the highest earning seeker for three consecutive years now. “No way!” he says unbelieving. “How did you two even meet?”

“Oh, you know Madame Maxime loves Quidditch,” Harry smiles mischievously. “And you know Quidditch boys _love_ omegas.”

“And most especially pureblood omegas who stand to inherit far more than they will earn in their lifetime?”

There is a short period of silence before Harry bursts into laughter, loud and utterly amused, as if he is not expecting this remark from Draco. “Oh, how I missed you, Draco,” Harry says looking at Draco with honest fondness.

This is one of of those moments when Draco got a glimpse of the cousin he so much adored, who was kind and loved Draco, who saw him almost like a true brother… and not just another person he had to compete with.

* * *

“A ball?” Harry asks Draco immediately intrigued. Harry keeps his eyes on the mirror, combing his black locks carefully.

“Yes, cousin, a ball,” Draco says. “A ministry ball.”

Harry’s face lights up in the way it always does when he is excited. “ _Politicians_ ,” he says, looking utterly pleased.

Draco swallows, instantly wonders if he made the right decision of inviting the omega. “And pureblood heirs,” he added, hoping to entice Harry.

Harry’s eyes glitter at the possibilities. “Yes, _alpha_ pureblood heirs.” Harry looks at himself closer in the vanity, still combing his luscious black hair. “What color are you wearing?” he asks as if it was not a big deal.

Draco feels nervous. He looked good in all colors, this he knows. But Harry was a perfectionist, with an eye for style and detail that Draco could only hope to compete with. “Green,” he says, unsure even to his own ears.

Harry stares at him through the mirror, face unreadable, Draco not sure if he approved of Draco’s choice in clothing. He does not talk for a while as if he is debating whether he should say something or not.

“You would look better in white or a very light blue,” Harry finally says, putting down his comb in favor of inspecting his face.

Draco doesn’t know if this is one Harry’s games. “But it is my house colors.” Draco says timidly. Harry would not understand the loyalty students bore for their houses. He never even set foot in Hogwarts.

“And it washes out your skin.” He says bluntly with a smile that did not look the least bit sorry. “You are ethereal cousin, an angel on this earth, and you deserve to be in heavenly colors.”

Draco stays silent, processing the words in his head. He looked at Harry who pinching his cheeks to make them red, eyes emotionless, and engrossed in the simple act of looking at his reflection. 

“What will you wear, Harry?” he asks, curious, if it is indeed some kind of manipulation.

Harry smirks at Draco in the mirror and the blonde is instantly afraid. “Me?” he asks innocently. “Why, _red_ , of course. I am French, after all.” He winks at Draco, and Draco’s mind whirls with the real meaning of Harry’s words. “Oh don’t look so pale, cousin.” Harry says looking amused at Draco’s worried face. “I simply want us to look our best.”

Draco smiles weakly not sure if he should believe him or not. “I do have some light blue robes,” he concedes. Harry smiles wickedly.

“Oh, how we will look together,” he says rising from the vanity and walking towards Draco. He rests both his hands on Draco’s cheek. “You, my milk and honey cousin, looking like an angel on earth,” one of his hands reach up to caress Draco’s hair. “And me, your dark and mysterious cousin.” He smiles, not at Draco, but at an image he has at his head. “What a pair we will be,” he muses. “You will be fair, and sweet, and English. And I will be dark, and difficult, and French.” His eyes meet Draco’s. “What alpha can resist us?”

Draco nods, entranced by the picture his cousin is painting in his head.

* * *

Draco feels an unhealthy amount of excitement in his chest.

He has never remembered feeling this way around Harry, and he basks in it so much that he does not even think about how truly radiant he looks in light blue. It did make him otherworldy, pale and beautiful. And he does not even dwell on the way Harry’s red gown, the way it clung to his skin, made him look like sin itself.

All of that did not matter, no, not tonight because Draco was going to see _him_. 

Draco closes his eyes and breathes deep. He remembers Harry excelling on the piano when they were five. Harry mastering spells at seven. Harry running past him on their first broom lessons at the Black manor. Harry telling Draco that he was moving to France with their favorite Aunt Bella. Harry always getting top marks in school. Harry laughing with his parents as though they were his own.

Those do not matter now.

_Because_ , Draco thinks, tonight Harry was going to see _him_.

“You seem awfully excited,” Harry says looking amusedly at his Draco.

“Oh,” Draco smiles. “It is nothing.”

Harry looks at him for a long while before saying. “You will be the talk of the ball tonight.”

Draco ignores the blatant lie. Harry was the new omega. They haven’t seen him since he was eleven, and even then, only those closest to the Blacks and Potters saw him in their parties. But now he was back. The son of the beloved James and Lily. 

They will be whispering about him all night long and for the weeks to come.

But that didn’t matter.

Draco tries his best not to giggle as they enter the ballroom.

Immediately, a hush falls over the entire crowd present. Draco smiles warmly while Harry pretends he does not notice the eyes on them. As fast as there was silence, there were whispers.

_Who is he? Another omega? The_ other _black cousin? Lily’s son? Oh, those_ eyes _…_

The crowd parts in front of Draco, and he tries to contain the anticipation in his stomach. He did not care about the attention that was directed towards Harry. Soon enough, it will be focused on him.

And there, walking slowly towards him dressed in perfectly pressed rich black robes, not a single strand of hair out of place, and a head taller than most people in crowd, was the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic… Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Draco grins. Tom Riddle was all in essence the epitome of being an alpha. He was… Draco smiled, he was perfect, if there was a word for it. He was handsome, tall, charming, intelligent, and popular among even the old bloods.

“Draco,” the alpha greets richly as he reaches him, dark blue eyes entirely focused on him, a charming smile on his lips.

“Tom,” he whispers, excitement pounds at his chest and he tries to see what Harry’s face looks like. He is staring at Tom, interested, as anyone would be. 

Tom Riddle, though a mudblood, is respected even by the Blacks and the Malfoys. He was ten years Draco’s senior, and had made his mark in Hogwarts by being bagging almost all awards and achievements available to attain.

Ever since then he has climbed his way up to the ministry and has made a name for himself as Britain’s most eligible alpha.

Draco does not spare a minute to introduce them. “Tom, this is Harry Potter,” he says a little to eagerly. “He is my cousin.”

Tom smiles at Harry, shows him the charming smile that made him so popular among omegas everywhere. “Ah, the other Black cousin,” he greets.

Harry’s eyes flash at the remark, obviously irked by the casual address and dismissal. Tom turns to Draco again, paying no attention to Harry, ready to ask Draco for a dance as he usually did. Draco cannot fight the grin that forms at his mouth. 

At the corner of his eye, Draco look at Harry’s expression. Draco sees the quick calculation in Harry’s head as he assesses Tom. 

_An alpha but not a pureblood... Riddle is a muggle name... ah, but a Senior Undersecretary, unbelievably handsome and so tall too…_

And just like that, the test is over. Draco does not know if Tom passes or not.

“Mr. _Riddle_ ,” Harry says sweetly, putting a subtle emphasis on Tom’s last name. It was a candy-coated insult if Draco ever heard one. Harry was establishing his dominance, his pure blood. Try as Riddle might, he will never be equal to Harry. Harry curtsies, low and proper, giving the alpha an innocent view of his scent gland. When he rises he does it slowly, lifting his eyes up to meet Tom’s in a carefully practiced shyness.

Immediately, Tom focuses back on Harry. Draco wonders if he imagines the Tom’s smile getting a bit… tight.

Tom bows with a grace that would make even pureblood alphas jealous. How could a mudblood move so aristocratically?

“Mr. Potter,” he says voice sinfully low.

“He is my cousin,” Draco says trying turning Tom’s attention toward him again. “He studied in Beauxbatons, and recently came home from France in threat of the war.”

Tom looks at Harry again and smiles charmingly. “They were not lying when they said Beauxbatons is home to the most beautiful omegas.”

Harry laughs, low and sensuous. A trap. “You lie,” he says with a challenge in his eye. Tom’s smile does not change but his eyes darken. Harry does not elaborate further, taking the time to enjoy what Draco thinks Harry imagines to be discomposure at Tom’s eyes. 

“You mean home to _the_ most beautiful omega,” Harry finally says slyly.

Tom chuckles, dark blue eyes assessing Harry once again, in a new light. “I thought it would be impertinent to say, since this is only our first meeting. But yes,” Tom says, voice velvet. “The most beautiful omega, indeed.”

Draco clears his throat softly. And Harry and Tom look at him in almost perfect synchronization. He falters.

“T-Tom is currently assigned to oversee the peace negotiations, Harry,” he says wondering why he felt suddenly shy under both their scrutiny. “He replaced Percy Weasley in the United Kingdom’s Security Association.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry says, face suddenly in thought. “Weasley allowed the bombings in Toulouse. His weak security measures killed two of my Beauxbatons classmates.”

“I assure you it will never happen again under my watch,” Tom says seriously. “Still, I believe some gratitude is in order for Percy Weasley,” Tom continues, a twinkle in his eye. Draco does not know why Tom says this. Hundreds of people died at the carelessness of Weasley’s security measures. “Without him, you would not be in my presence tonight.”

Tom and Harry looked at each other, taking each other in. Harry’s chest is not moving, as if he is holding his breath. Draco felt his heart stop. _It’s happened,_ he thinks. _It’s happened faster now._

_“_ Harry is dating Viktor Krum,” Draco says suddenly. Harry’s head snaps fast in his direction, eyes dark. Draco laughs nervously. Well he was, wasn’t he? “He’s the famous Quidditch player.”

Tom’s eyebrow lifts. “Viktor?” _Viktor?_ Tom was in a first name basis with _Viktor Krum?_ “So _you’re_ the omega he skipped our luncheon for in France,” Tom says. "He was rather suicidal when you called it off."

Draco blushes. Why did Harry tell him about Viktor if they weren’t together anymore?

Harry waves his hand dismissively. “He has always been overdramatic.”

“Viktor has never been so taken with an omega before,” Tom says. “Ah,” he says smoothly. “But who wouldn’t be?” He looks at Harry and smirks. “You are, after all, the _most beautiful_ omega.”

Harry laughs, eyes shining mischievously. “My poor omega heart cannot take it if you keep calling me that.”

Draco is afraid to look at Tom, of what he might see in that face. What Draco thought would make the alpha lose interest in Harry only made the omega more desirable in the alpha’s eyes. Draco should have seen this coming. Harry was never in love with any of his alphas. They were completely entranced by him.

But when he finally does gets the courage to look at the alpha, he does not see the usual eyes that look at Draco with kindness and a little bit of desire, as alphas usually looked at him... but he saw the glint of pleased realization, teasing and utterly entranced—the exact same way Harry’s eyes looked when he has found something worth his attention. And it was all pointed at Harry.

It was then that Draco knew that this night was a mistake. He should not have brought Harry. He should have waited and been patient. Now Tom was slipping through his fingers, as all alphas did, when they met Harry.

The blonde knew he had no hope of competing against Harry. When his cousin sunk his claws, he buried them deep—and it was clear the moment Tom asked Harry to dance first, completely forgetting that Draco was there, completely forgetting the letters they exchanged for almost two months now.

Draco smiled politely throughout the ordeal, acting as though it was not affecting him at all. He felt his throat burn but he did not dare cry.

The alpha and the omega looked at each other like they were the only two people in the room, movements graceful and long as if they were meant to move together. 

The first three dances Tom does not let go of Harry nor Harry lets go of him. They dance, lost in their own world, Harry’s coquettish smile visible even from where Draco was standing. And Tom, whose charming smile did not give anything away, his eyes revealed all too well. 

He was enthralled, as most men were after spending time with Harry. Only Tom is sharp enough to immediately see what lies beneath Harry’s carefully calculated beauty. They recognize each other right away, in a sea of people, they have found each other—equals in intelligence, quick tongues, and sharp retorts that go unnoticed by lesser minds.

But Draco has grown up with Harry, and he knows, only a little too well the games his cousin plays.

And when Tom and Harry finally let go of each other as the third song ends, their breathing is heavy, unlike the usual calm breaths they take. They look at each other and it is Harry who breaks contact first, as if remembering something, breaking the spell that has them. Harry murmurs something with a smile. Tom nods, agreeing to Harry, extending his palm as the omega places his hand on Tom’s. He kisses it longer than proper and their eyes do not leave each other.

He makes his way to Draco, all charm again, the Tom he knows very well.

They dance. And though Tom’s smile is the same as it is every time they do, and he asks Draco questions in his velvet voice, his eyes dart to around whenever he thinks Draco is not looking. 

And Draco cannot shake off the feeling that his mind is somewhere else, and that for the first time, it is not Draco’s attention and interest he seeks... but another one’s entirely.

* * *

Draco swears he sees Harry smile smugly at Draco as he takes Tom’s hand in his, confident in his claim, and overly smug, as he should be, as anyone would be if they caught the most desired alpha there is in Britain. 

Then, as though he sees Draco for the first time, he smiles slowly. He lifts his free hand, and waves at Draco in greeting. Draco immediately notices that it is the hand that carries their ostentatious wedding ring, with diamonds so big and heavy, it was almost vulgar.

But of course, Draco sees it as what it really is, a trophy, a token of Harry’s undeniable triumph over Draco. Tom was their final contest, in their long-going rivalry, and Harry has won.

Harry wears deep green robes and so does Tom. A color showing their unity, Harry’s complete oneness with his alpha. It brings out his eyes more than the red robes he used to wear. He was made for the color more than Draco ever was.

Draco smiles weakly, the most beautiful omega in all of Britain, pushed aside by another Black, his own cousin, who was not even half of his own beauty.

But how could Draco complain when that was all he could offer Tom who was ambitious as well as brilliant? Draco wasn’t even half of Harry’s wit and intelligence... nor half his charisma.

Draco has always been what he’s always been—so beautiful and… and beautiful. Just beautiful.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault that he was the way he was. And Draco does not blame him.

Harry saunters at Tom’s side, dark and sensuous, a small playful smirk at his lips. Tom is talking to the Minister, a bond mark on his neck for all the world to see, and he holds Harry so possessively, like all alphas hold their omegas.

Harry beckons for him to come towards them and he does.

Harry smiles and introduces him to the Minister. “This is my cousin, Minister Fudge, Draco Black-Malfoy.”

The Minister takes his hand. “Ah yes, yes,” he says. “The _other_ Black cousin.”

Draco’s smile does not change as he sees the flash of satisfaction at Harry’s eyes.

Draco Black-Malfoy always felt the same way he did when he saw Harry Black-Potter—a deep fondness and an adoration that is reserved for a brother... and something else, something darker underlying those feelings, something like… jealousy and envy… for a rival he has never, not even once, beaten in any game.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory. I'm not as satisfied at this as I thought I'd be but yep, must post. HAHA! And do y’all think Harry is as bad as Draco makes him out to be? Probably. Not. Maybe. HAHAHAHA.
> 
> PS. The next fic is _definitely_ going to be another teenage comedy romance. Because. We all love that. In the meantime, check out [Drunk in Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120954). Because it still makes me giggle every time I read it.
> 
> PPS. CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS FIC ACTUALLY HAS [ART](https://fairygirl34-art-writing.tumblr.com/post/181993926049/temptresslove-bookreadervirgo-i-read-the) I'M SO FLATTERED. CHECK IT OUT. Made by the very talented [Fairygirl34](https://fairygirl34-art-writing.tumblr.com/).


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